Burning Blood
by gut3n4ch7
Summary: On a night like any other, they found their team name.


Disclaimer: Air Gear is the rightful property of Oh!Great.

Written in response to a Livejournal meme.

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He had received the message some time earlier, a simple text message on his ever-present mobile. It had been sudden, out of the blue. Sano Yasuyoshi made it a habit of knowing the people he knew, of taking note of when they called, and why they called. Spitfire was one of those he didn't know to contact him about anything other than strict, serious business. Casual calls were rare, if they ever happened at all.

"_My place. Drinks. I'll be waiting._" It had said, heralded by the ring-tone he had set for the man (some classical jingle, he had forgotten which one by now).

Cryptic, but who was Sano to turn down such an invitation?

It didn't take him long to arrive at the apartment building in question. The trip up to the Flame King's apartment seemed to take even less.

Why would the man call him out like that? For something as frivolous as a drink, no less? It wasn't that Sano didn't _enjoy_ Spitfire's company, oh no, quite the opposite in fact. This was just so very… sudden.

Within moments, he was at the door, jabbing a well-manicured finger at the bell. Once, twice, three times in rapid succession, when only one try was really needed. He was answered after the second ring of the bell, the third jab was simply out of playfulness.

"Drinks?"

"Drinks."

The door closed behind them with a soft click, and Sano meandered further into the suite while his host set about the task of sliding the chain in place. One thing Spitfire's place wasn't was messy. Pristine, clean floors, plush carpeting. The interior design was simple, yet appealing, relaxing and inspiring, much like the man himself. It certainly didn't have the luxury Sano was accustomed to, but in a way, it was far better than the richly furbished houses and five-star hotels.

He rather liked it here.

"This is sudden, Spitfire," murmured Sano, as he approached the ornate grand piano, the centerpiece of the room. On its gleaming surface sat a small tray, glasses and wine bottle and a nearby, brightly burning candle beside what looked to be a coil of coppery wire. "What's the occasion?"

A soft smile was his reply, scant but warm nonetheless. "Do I need an excuse to see you now, Sano-kun?" came the teasing question. Up to the piano and the tray atop it, long graceful fingers reaching for the twin glasses. "Is a friendly drink too much to ask for these days?"

Sano could only smile, shake his head, laugh. "I'm a busy fellow, Spitfire, you're quite lucky there was a break in my schedule." He took up the offered glass with a smirk and a murmur of thanks, held it out for the waiting bottle with another soft mutter of gratitude. It was a pleasure, watching the flame-haired man work, watching those graceful fingers move. The curve of his neck, the set of his shoulders, shoulders that could bear so much. Eyes like fire, and that burned just as brightly. Eyes that stared at him over that crimson glass of wine.

"Eh, Spitfire? Is something the matter?"

Silence met with his query, and in place of words, he was met with action. The man's glass was set back on the tray with a harsh clatter, red liquid slopping over the sides, and Sano had to fight to set down his own glass lest he stain the pristine carpet with wine. Not a second too late, for lips pressed against his, rough and demanding and positively impatient. Hands ran up the curve of his back, pressing in between his shoulder blades, running up through his mop of shoulder-length hair.

It was only when the shock passed that he thought to pull away from the onslaught, and even then it took him more time than he wanted to gather his wits about him.

"S-spitfire!" he spluttered, once he had pulled himself free from the sudden kiss. His hands pressed against the older man's chest, pushing, seeking space and breath and some semblance of sanity in that moment of madness. "What are you _doing_?"

And then he was staring into eyes, deep eyes so dark and heated with passion that he could have gotten lost in them in that moment. "Do you not have room for me in your _schedule_?" Spitfire whispered, a harsh hiss of a question. He smelled of wine, of fire and ash and whatever cologne it was he favoured. "Or must I _make_ room?"

And his lips were against Sano's again and again the bespectacled youth had to push away, had to gasp for air that wouldn't come. Dark eyes narrowed, and Sano leveled a stare at the red-head that would have sent most men packing.

"All you had to do was ask," he said, haughtily, laughingly, before leaning back into the sudden, mad kiss. He saw the pleased surprise in the Flame King's eyes, and it spurred him on.

The hand in his hair trailed down to join the hand on his shoulders, pushing, tugging at his coat, sliding the garment off his shoulders. He could feel the fiery man's fingers trailing over the fabric of his shirt, fiddling with the buttons at his throat. Even as their tongues danced, Spitfire's hands never rested.

The first of the buttons came free the moment Sano's lower back met with the piano. By the time they resurfaced for precious air, gasping, panting like drowning men, Spitfire was pushing his shirt from his shoulders, pushing it down along with his coat and he would have shivered in the cool air but Spitfire was there right up against him (God the man was fire incarnate) and there was so little time left to _think_ no matter what the four-odd watches on his wrist said.

He was pinned against the piano, leaning back over it until its gleaming edge was digging into his exposed flesh, pushed into the hard surface with every advance by the flaming red-head. Could that kiss become any more heated, any more passionate? Sano could feel the man's fingers working their way down to his waist, hands coming to rest just above his belt, and then his feet weren't on the floor anymore. The kiss was broken just long enough to allow Sano a surprised little yelp before he was sitting _on_ the piano, and then his lips were claimed once more.

Before long, Sano found himself on his back atop that gleaming piano. There was no helping it, it was lie back or tumble to the floor when Spitfire vaulted himself up. The red-head was straddling him by now, kneeling over him with that smooth, sly grin on his lips.

"You look like the cat that's caught the canary," murmured Sano, gazing up at the flame-haired man in mingled amusement and apprehension. He knew that grin well. Spitfire had worn it the day he had beaten Sano into the ground.

"Perhaps that's because I have, Sano-kun," replied the Flame King, and he was down again, pressing his lips against Sano's in that impatiently demanding way.

It wasn't until his arms were pulled up over his head that Sano took it into his head to protest, if that little muffled mumble of a sound could be called a protest. It was getting more and more difficult to think with the man on top of him like he was, tasting him on his tongue. Wine and smoke and cinnamon, that's what Spitfire tasted like.

His thoughts, muddled and stirred up as they were, were interrupted by the feel of cool metal against his skin and the wire that now wound itself around his wrists. A little start of surprise, and he jerked reflexively against his new bonds. The coil wasn't so tight as to cut off circulation, oh no, but it wasn't likely that he'd be able to slip free without a great deal of effort. Effort that he really couldn't find the energy to spare. Spitfire's fiery touch on his skin dared to reduce him to nothing.

"Spitfire---" Sano gasped out, when they parted once more for that crucial breath. He hated the note of panic, of questioning and puzzlement in his voice. Even more, he hated the smug look on the red-head's face, even while it sent a thrill down his spine.

Fingertips pressing against his lips silenced any further protests, and his pulse quickened with the man's hot breath upon his face.

"Don't you trust me, Sano-kun?"

No words were spoken. They weren't needed. A simple nod, a single glance, and then Sano couldn't think anymore. Spitfire's fingers on his skin, trailing soft and white-hot over his bared chest and down his stomach, his tongue tracing a burning path along Sano's collarbone.

He knew he ought to have felt some semblance of trepidation when Spitfire reached for the candle, yet all he could feel was _Spitfire_ and the heat that coiled deep in his abdomen. He felt no fear, not in the Flame King's capable hands. Hands that left him gasping for breath as they explored his naked skin---

The first drop of hot wax on his chest almost tore a scream from his throat. Fire, liquid fire dripping onto his flesh in the wake of that nimble, graceful hand. He bucked at the sensation, his breath caught in a strangled gasp, and he couldn't breath couldn't think until the pain had begun to subside—

Another drop, then another, pooling over the pale surface of his skin, and Sano was writhing and Spitfire's eyes were digging into his and it hurt but it just felt so _goddamn good_, it couldn't be healthy. And then the Flame King's finger was running through the still-hot wax, tracing a burning line across his chest, and Sano's back arched into the touch, and it was all he could do to breath.

"Is your blood boiling?" came the soft, sibilant whisper in his ear, amidst the roaring in his head and his heaving gasps.

He had to struggle to form the words, to find the _right_ words in that mad, hazy mess that was his mind. All he could see was Spitfire, all he could smell was Spitfire, all he could _feel_ was Spitfire, hot and burning like the open flame and so bright he chased away the darkness in him---

"No," Sano said, in a barely audible whisper, his voice shaking and quavering, beyond his own control. Ohgod the fire. "It's burning."


End file.
